Reclamation
by SmarticleParticle
Summary: Post-TDW. While reveling in his new position as King of the Nine Realms, Loki spots a Midgardian girl who appears to wield magic-but he's not the only one. Unfortunately, Molly has her own problems to deal with, and a potential alien overlord showing up in her bedroom is the least of them. Loki/OFC, rating will go up.
1. Prologue

There was a sorcerer on Midgard. Kaia could feel it in her bones.

She couldn't tell exactly where, or who, or even how powerful this particular sorcerer was. She sat in the same spot for days on end, hidden deep within the remote, damp cave and oblivious to the cold stone beneath her. Her black hair had grown lank, her body was caked in a layer of filth, and her bones jutted out, sharp as blades. None of it mattered. There was a sorcerer on Midgard. Kaia would drive herself to exhaustion to trace them.

Her servants slunk about like shadows skirting a flame. Their dried-out skin rustled as they crept around her on all fours, foul breath rattling in their throats—she had long since become accustomed to their stench, their hollow eyes and their rotted teeth. They moved on sticks that had once been powerful, muscled limbs, and she knew exactly how easy it was to snap those sticks in two, listen to the creature howl in agony as what was left of its brain told it to _run_...

Kaia opened her eyes, feeling her mind return to its rightful place after hours of freedom. She blinked in the flickering amber torchlight, and smiled.

She had not yet located the sorcerer, but she was getting close. Her search had drawn her mind to a place in the Northern part of the realm—an area referred to as Europe.

There was a sorcerer on Midgard, and Kaia was going to do whatever it took to have them.

* * *

**A/N:** I feel like I should put this warning here: in the next couple of chapters there will be strong themes of sexual assault (not rape) and a description of it through a flashback. If this makes you uncomfortable or will trigger you in any way, _please_ do not read it. It's not worth putting yourself though for a fanfic. :) Because of these scenes, the rating may go up next chapter.

If you want to follow me on tumblr, my url is thorealasgard.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Though I haven't yet put the rating up, this chapter is where the potentially triggering material will start, so reader discretion is advised.

* * *

To be back in his own body after so many long hours was a relief. The Allfather was fit for his age, but Loki had missed his own subtle speed and agility. It was also nice to be rid of that awful, scratchy beard.

Loki supposed he should be used to it; two weeks had passed since he had _relieved_ the Allfather of his duties, and nobody in the palace had even the slightest inkling that their beloved King was really a notorious war criminal. _No change there, then,_ Loki had thought bitterly.

Ruling the Nine Realms had actually turned out to be far easier than Loki had dared hope. Odin had scores of advisors and subordinates, each charged with very specific responsibilities. He let them get on with it for the most part, making a few changes as he saw fit. He had spent enough time around his adoptive father to know how he ruled a kingdom. If anyone actually noticed a change in their King's demeanour, they wisely kept silent.

Kingly duties aside, there were serious perks to having the throne. Loki relished the automatic respect his subjects showed him—and he didn't even have to threaten anyone to get it!

Then there was the raised basin of water, tucked away in a corner of the King's vast chambers. Loki had discovered this almost immediately. It was presumably a gift from Heimdall (who Loki had shielded himself from with a few cleverly-placed spells. If the gatekeeper dared to look into the royal suite, he would see only Odin, awake and well) and when Loki looked upon its surface at _just the right angle_, it became a window to the Realms. He could see anywhere in the Universe with just a few whispered words.

Presently, he leaned over the unnaturally still surface of the water, hands braced on the carved stone basin. He'd focussed on the busy streets of some Midgardian city —he didn't care to remember the name. In the middle of the scene was couple sat at a small table outside an eating establishment, laughing and with their fingers intertwined. The man, muscled, broad-shouldered and with his blond hair secured away from his face in a braid, leaned in to capture the dark-haired woman's lips in a kiss. She playfully swatted him away when the kiss deepened, though she only laughed more.

Loki felt a stab of something for Thor. Was it pain? Pity? Frustration? He _had_ warned him that his happiness with this Midgardian woman would be shortlived, just like her—a few decades and she would be old and frail; a few centuries and she would be dust. Thor didn't appear to care. He was dressed in Midgardian clothes, eating Midgardian food with a Midgardian lover. Loki snorted. It was hardly a life for Asgard's _crown prince_ and _finest warrior_.

Something in the background of the picture made him stop. He leaned closer, nose almost breaking the water's surface. In the midst of the crowd that swarmed the cobbled street there was a hunched figure, dressed entirely in black. The figure had its back to him, but Loki guessed it was a woman by the coppery hair that hung down to her elbows. However, it wasn't this that caught his attention.

The woman was surrounded by a faint, shimmering green haze.

Interest piqued, Loki shifted the image to focus on the woman. She seemed in a hurry, hands stuffed in her pockets and eyes fixed firmly on the ground. The haze was definitely following her, though it was weak. The god frowned. He had only ever seen this phenomenon when he turned his gaze to the likes of Asgard. Those gifted in the magical arts were perpetually shrouded in emerald, almost as if the Allfather had been keeping track of the presence of magic in his kingdom.

There was no way this frightened-looking woman could be a renegade Aesir living on Midgard. Which meant—

Loki straightened, lips curling up into a smile.

He stole a glance at the real Odin, lying on his back in his huge bed, dead to the world. He wouldn't be waking up for a while, Loki had ensured that.

First he would find out if his suspicions were correct, and then...then things would get rather _interesting_.

* * *

Molly ran the last few steps to her flat. She felt like a saucepan about to boil over, but it was one of her Rules that she could never, ever, _ever_ cry where anybody could see her. People might start asking questions.

She shut the door behind her, and it closed with a barely-audible, still-too-loud click. She let her bag fall from her arm to land with a muffled _thud_ on the floor.

Closing the door on the outside world was like opening another inside her.

It wasn't that she _fell_ to the floor, really. It was just that her legs decided her body was no longer worth supporting, and gave up.

Then the tears began, as they always did—first with a tremor of her lips, then everything blurred and her eyes itched. A blink, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, only to be replaced as soon as they were gone.

Molly's hands twisted fistfuls of hair as she sobbed—but quietly, so the neighbours wouldn't know—and it was all she could do to hold on and grit her teeth as the sadness broke free, shaking her to the core.

She lost track of how long she stayed that way, in a crumpled heap, her body curled around itself almost protectively. She wasn't even sure what she was crying about, only that it was all she could do to let it out. She'd had a stressful day—why did everyone who visited the supermarket she worked in have to be so _rude_?—but she was certain her co-workers didn't do _this_ every night, collapse on the floor and try not to crumble to dust. She wiped the tears away angrily. All the people in the world, and it had to be her. He'd chosen to make _her_ like this, and it wasn't fair.

Carefully, Molly unfolded herself and kicked off her boots before padding through to the bathroom. She stripped out of her black uniform and scooped up her pyjamas from the floor where she'd dumped them earlier.

As she pulled the soft cotton shirt over her head, something metallic and shiny caught her eye. On the counter sat one of Molly's many razor blades. She didn't recall leaving it there, though she had been in a rush that morning. She approached it as if in a dream, picking it up and holding it so that the light slid smoothly along its silver edge.

It was an old one, dull and with rust creeping along the sides. There were still some brownish specks tainting the metal from its last use. Still, the blade seemed to wink at her.

_You know you want me. You want me on your skin_, it purred. _Use me_.

Molly shook her head. It had been nearly a week since she had last cut. She felt like shit, but she wasn't going to break now. Before she could change her mind, she threw the blade in the bin, where it belonged.

She knew she'd left a meal bubbling away in the slow cooker, but just the smell of food made her want to gag. It didn't matter. It would still be there later.

With barely the energy to put one foot in front of the other, Molly traipsed into her tiny, dark bedroom and collapsed on the unmade bed. The speed with which sleep washed over her was a blessing.

* * *

_"You like that, don't you, bitch?"_

_"No! Lewis, _please_ stop!"_

_His thin face gaped into a smile like a wound reopening, revealing yellowed teeth and breath that reeked of tobacco. Molly tried to turn her face away, but that _smile_ was everywhere she looked. His fingers rubbed insistently against her underwear, and tears pricked at her eyes as she tried to arch away from him. _

_"Oh, don't cry," the older boy cooed. "Enjoy it. Not like anyone else is going to want to finger a fat slut like you." He crushed her harder against the lockers, and she prayed for someone—a teacher, another student, _anyone_—to round the corner and see, call for help, get him _away_ from her._

Right as he was about to pull her underwear aside, her eyes shot open, lashes already damp with tears.

There was another face inches away from her own.

The green-eyed man leaning over her smiled.

"Boo."


	3. Chapter 2

Molly shrieked, reaching up to swipe at the pale face inches from her own.

The man was too quick. He sprang away with catlike reflexes, landing nimbly next to her bed, and grinned at her as she scrambled for the empty glass of water on her bedside table.

"Come any closer and I'll smash this on your fucking face," Molly snarled, still blinking the sleep from her eyes.

The man held his hands up, feigning innocence. "Charming, aren't you? And believe me, my darling, had I wanted to hurt you I would have already done it."

"I'm not your darling," Molly snapped, though the venom had drained out of her voice. She sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair. She was still dreaming. She had to be. The intruder was unlike any other man she had seen; he was tall and lean with unfashionably-long black hair, and he was dressed in some sort of armour that was straight out of an RPG. His skin was almost translucently pale and he had high, regal cheekbones. Even so, there was something oddly familiar about him, though she was sure she'd remember meeting someone like _this_.

"Just... who the hell are you?" she said eventually, lowering the glass—but keeping it gripped tight.

"I am Loki," the tall man answered simply.

Molly felt her heart skip a beat as realisation dawned on her. "As in crazy-horned-alien-destroying-New-York-for-no-clear-reason Loki?"

The corner of her potential alien overlord's mouth twitched. "I thought you would have heard of me."

Molly sighed again, sitting back on her heels. "If you're going to save me a job and kill me, can you please get on with it? Make it quick, though. Like, snap my neck or something."

Loki waved a hand dismissively. "I told you, I have no intention of hurting you, nor do I have any real quarrel with Midgard. That was another time and place. I have what I wanted; Midgard was simply a stepping stone to get it."

Molly decided she didn't want to know what 'it' was. She shook her head—she was definitely still dreaming. "So if you're not going to kill me—though I don't see why I should trust you to keep to your word—what are you going to do? Ruin my life?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "It appears another has interfered before I was even aware of your existence. Who is Lewis?"

Molly stiffened. "He's nobody."

The god nodded. He already had his suspicions, but from what the girl had been yelling in her sleep (he had _not_ been watching her, he had simply arrived before she awoke), it seemed like a subject he should avoid for the time being. He didn't want to scare her off, after all.

"Why are you even here, then?" said Molly as she stood up to face the Norse god currently leaning causally against her bedroom wall. He was at least head-and-shoulders taller that she was.

"Because," Loki replied, his voice lowering conspiratorially so that she had to lean in to hear, "I have a question to which you hold the answer. I will not leave until I get it."

Molly nodded slowly. "So if I give you your answer, whatever the fuck you're talking about, you'll leave me alone?"

"That would depend on the answer you give."

"Helpful," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "OK, so what's the question?" _This is the part where he gives me a riddle and turns me to stone when I get it wrong,_ she though wryly.

"Hold out your arm," Loki commanded.

She hesitated, before deciding it best not to question him and complying.

Loki reached out and gripped the bare skin of her wrist firmly. As he did so, the sleeve of her nightshirt slipped down slightly, revealing long brownish scabs and pinker scars which were stark against her pale skin. He pretended not to notice, never breaking eye contact with the girl, though he allowed his thumb to brush almost imperceptibly over one of the scabs. It was no more than a week old, and clearly self-inflicted. Loki carefully filed this information away for later.

There was an odd warmth blossoming out from Loki's fingers. Molly looked down, unable to hold his intense gaze for another moment. What she saw would have made her jump back in shock, if only Loki would let go. In her open palm sat a tiny flame, jumping about and burning away merrily.

"As I thought," Loki said lightly. He let go of Molly's wrist, and the flame vanished. "You have magic," he explained in case she hadn't caught on yet.

Molly glared at him suspiciously, holding her wrist close to her chest. "How should I know this isn't a trick? I mean, I'm the last person who would have magical powers."

"Well obviously you aren't, or I wouldn't be here," Loki snorted. "And I'm afraid you are going to have to trust me, little one. Now what did you say your name was?"

"Molly," she answered cautiously.

"Molly what?"

"Hale."

"Molly Hale," Loki repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, Molly suspected. "Well, Molly Hale, I am afraid I must leave you now. I would advise you to keep your powers to yourself—many Midgardians object to the idea of the ethereal—but here's one thing you can trust me on. I will be watching."

With those parting words, the god melted into the shadows and Molly was left alone once more.

* * *

**A/N: I kinda feel like there's something missing from this chapter, so reviews would be very helpful!**

**And yay, their first interaction! I think Loki would be pretty happy Molly didn't immediately associate him with Thor, a la Selvig, but I'm not sure how he would feel about how little Molly seems to value her life; I think that's probably something they could bond over. Next chapter will have a lot more action, I promise. :D**


	4. Chapter 3

Every night since he had showed the girl—Molly, he reminded himself, her name was Molly—her powers, Loki returned to his spyglass to observe her. The revelation had shaken her up, that was for sure. If he caught her out in public—not that she left her pitiful abode unless absolutely necessary—she was furtive, always checking over her shoulder and edging away from anyone who ventured too close. Though, Loki considered, perhaps that was her usual demeanour.

One thing was certain; she longed for his return. Loki would often have the pleasure of watching as she stood in the middle of her living room with her arms outstretched, desperately trying to summon the flame to her hands once more. She may have taken his advice by drawing her curtains and locking her doors to hide herself from the world, but Loki saw. Part of him itched to go back to her and begin to train her to use her powers—as he saw fit, of course. He was certain there was a great deal of magic within her (for a Midgardian at least), and the sooner he could unlock it and have her dependent on him for tuition and advice, the better. However, he forced himself to wait and allow her to work herself into desperation.

It would make her all the more accepting of him when the time for his return finally came.

* * *

Kaia stood alone on a Midgardian street.

It was early on a chilly autumn morning, though the sky was crisp and cloudless, and brittle russet leaves writhed and twisted in tiny whirlwinds. In front of her there was a giant concrete building, its surface crammed with rows of narrow windows and doors.

A tremor of anticipation rippled though her body. This was the place. There was a sorcerer on Midgard, and they were so, so near. She could practically smell their flesh.

Now she just had to find out where she was.

Kaia turned in slow circles. The built-up estate she stood on was deserted, save for a scraggy dog rooting through a pile of black binbags. Finding a human to ask was out of the question, but in the distance was what looked like a street full of shops. She closed her eyes.

Seconds later, the girl stood in the middle of a wide road lined with shops that jostled for space with cafes and diners. There were still no people, but the street looked like it would be thriving under other circumstances.

Carefully, Kaia began to study the bold lettering emblazoned on the shopfronts—this particular language of Midgard was difficult to decipher, but eventually she found what she needed.

Printed above the entrance to one particular building were the words "Stevens and Sons—Bristol's Finest Bakers".

* * *

Kaia came back into herself with a jolt, only to find herself face to face with a pair of yellow eyes.

"Eileifr, get _away_ from me," she snarled, lip curling in revulsion.

Eileifr scurried back a few feet to crouch in front of her, his almost-bald head bowed respectfully. "I am sorry, Kaia," he rattled, "but I have bad news for you."

Kaia frowned as she stood up. Eileifr was one of her only servants who still had some semblance of magic left—not a lot, certainly not enough to overpower her, but enough so that he could assist her in sweeping the universe for signs of lone, weakened sorcerers. He was once formidable, and reducing him to this hollow, obedient, decomposing shell was an achievement Kaia still took pride in.

"Go on," she prompted, her voice low.

"We—well," he stuttered, cowering before her, "there is also good news!"

"Get on with it." Kaia took a step towards him, her bare feet soundless on the rock.

"The good news is that I know where the sorcerer lives!" he said quickly, glancing up hopefully. "Ye—yes, she resides in a Midgardian city known as Bristol."

"I knew that," Kaia said coldly. "I just saw it in a vision. Give me the bad news."

Eileifr swallowed. "I—I also had a vision. I could not see the sorcerer's face...but I did see Loki of Asgard."

Kaia froze. She could easily take down the old or the untrained or the weak, and hold her own against more skilled warriors if it came down to it—but Loki Odinson was something else.

She schooled her expression and returned to her seat. "You are mistaken, Eileifr. The last I heard, Loki was imprisoned deep within the bowels of Asgard. Even the Sly One would have a hard time escaping from there. Tell me exactly what you saw in your vision—and do not give me a reason to suspect you are lying."

"Th-there was a woman, Kaia." Eileifr seemed on the verge of tears. "Though I could not see her face, I saw fire in her hand and Loki Odinson holding her wrist. He looks different now, older, but it was him!"

"Damn," Kaia murmured under her breath. She looked down at Eileifr, who seemed to be attempting to melt into the floor. "All right, you can go."

His eyes widened in relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Kaia," he whispered, before scurrying away.

Once he was gone, the girl allowed her hands to clench into fists, her teeth grinding. So Loki _was_ involved—she could trust Eileifr on that. Things had just become a lot more difficult.

She forced herself to calm down. It was imperative that she find this human before Loki could do whatever it was he was planning to do with her. A few more days, and it could be too late.

Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, she opened her mind to the universe and resumed her search, hellbent on finding the Midgardian sorcerer.

* * *

**A/N: Oh my God. I actually can't believe how many hits this fic is getting omg. Thank you to everyone who has faved/reviewed so far! **

**There may be a bit of a delay between this chapter and the next. I'm updating as I write and I haven't been in a very good place mentally lately, so I'm not really able to write. D: Plus I've also got a lot of coursework to do and that has to take priority. **

**x**


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